Page 80 of A Stranger’s Kiss

Deborah descended the stairs, clutching her reticule so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Olivia followed closely behind. Halfway down, she spied Mr. Pitt bobbing through the crowd, hurrying their way.

So, it was him.

Olivia glanced at Nicholas, but his gaze was locked on Mr. Pitt.

“Miss Mackenzie,” Mr. Pitt called. “Miss Mackenzie.” He pushed straight past Deborah and to herself. “You are wanted backstage,” he said with a worried frown. “Is is a bit of a disaster, if I say so myself. Florinda’s dressing room.”

Olivia’s eyes widened. “Disaster? Is she well? Can she still sing?” Of course, disaster would strike, and at the worst possible moment.

“Best run,” the man hissed.

Again, ignoring Deborah, he hurried away. Olivia stared at his disappearing back. Was he not the blackmailer? He hadn’t so much as spared Deborah a glance.

“It truly sounds important.” Deborah sad. “You should go.”

“How can I leave you?” Olivia gasped.

“I assure you, Deborah is safe in my care,” Lord Deveraux insisted.

Olivia shot Nicholas a quizzical glance.

“Go.” He lifted his brow at Mr. Pitt’s disappearing, then returned his attention to her. “There’s naught to fret over here. You are safe. Mr. Timms’ men have you under their eye, I assure you.”

She didn’t have a choice. Truly. “I will hurry back,” she promised.

She rushed away, ignoring the host of patrons calling out her name.

Mr. Pitt was nowhere to be found. She nearly ran back to Deborah, just to ensure her cousin’s safety, but once she neared Florinda’s dressing room, the unmistakable sound of angry voices sent her heart into a wild rhythm. She reached for the knob, but the door flew open beneath her touch. A woman stood, angry—nae, furious. Her hair loose and in disarray.

Olivia’s mouth dropped open. “Louisa.”

Louisa Hamilton glared back at her, nostrils flaring, hands on her hips. “This, this strumpet dares to sing my songs?” Her voice rose in a crescendo. “This is my concert. My songs.”

“Toss this toad to the street,” Florinda spat from behind the mountain of roses filling the room.

Olivia blinked.

Some of the vases lay broken on the floor and the flowers crushed.

Louisa tossed her head and craned her neck over her shoulder. “Better a toad than a grunting pig—and with the looks of one, as well.”

Candlelight caught the locket hanging about her neck.

Olivia’s throat closed.

There was no mistaking it. Her mother’s necklace.

With one swift jerk, she yanked the locket from Louisa’s neck. “Where?” Olivia gasped. “Where did you get this?”

Louisa screeched. “Have you gone mad?” She waved a paper in front of Olivia’s face. “This is my concert, and I have the contracts to prove it.”

Olivia held still. The contracts. The stolen contracts. She snatched them from Louisa’s hand. “Where did you get these?”

“Lord Randall gave them to me, and the necklace, as well,” Louisa retorted in near hysteria. “He told me what you were up to. How you betrayed me…”

Olivia was no longer listening. The blood rushed to her ears. Lord Randall. Suddenly, the pieces fell into place. He’d paid for his music with the bent shilling. There weren’t two, after all. As for the contracts and her mother’s necklace, he must have broken into her house. Had he watched her that night through the window, when she’d taken the box out from beneath the floorboard? She shuddered. He’d followed her home.

The letter. Deborah’s letter. He’d been there that day. Lord save her, he hadn’t shown up at the cemetery the night of the dinner. He’d known Deborah hadn’t left the house, because he’d been there, standing amid the trees. He’d clearly enjoyed torturing Deborah…and all the audacity he possessed, in asking her grandfather for her hand?

She shuddered. The blackmailer wasn’t Mr. Pitt, at all. It was Lord Randall. No doubt, he’d written the letter in such a fashion to throw them off the scent.

With a gasp, she remembered. Lord save them all. Lady Kendrick. She’d seen him herself, escorting Lady Kendrick on his arm.

Olivia whirled and ran down the hall.